


Hinterfell

by MisterPseudonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen, Magic, Vampires, based on lore, world is not a happy place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 04:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10914399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterPseudonymous/pseuds/MisterPseudonymous
Summary: Dense fog choked the fading sunlight, leaving only paltry rays and his car’s headlights to warn him of any danger ahead. Above knotted trees, he saw the silhouettes of broken telegraph lines, dead cables dancing wildly in the wind. He swerved sharply whenthe damn crowlanded so suddenly, so unexpectedly, sopurposelyon his shoulder. Oh, how it laughed at him!“What’s so funny?” He wanted to squeeze the life out of it, but fear stopped him. After all, it was Pryem who—“Hindsight, little Pryem. Hindsight.”





	Hinterfell

The wheel ceased its turn  
such a long time ago  
A layer of rust;  
a coating of dust  
Would but any mourn  
the engine’s end

Part One: End of the Line  
Chapter One: Pryem

Once upon a time, the road was more paved, more traversed, more as a _road ought be_ , but now pervading nature tore up the path, gradually reverting the land to a more primal state. Every _bump_ caused Pryem to tighten his grip on the steering wheel, knuckles whitened to a shade akin to bone. Then again, the road was never intended for cars, a testament to an older era that lingered outside of the major cities. Pryem had no choice. This was the only road.

Dense fog choked the fading sunlight, leaving only paltry rays and his car’s headlights to warn him of any danger ahead. Above knotted trees, he saw the silhouettes of broken telegraph lines, dead cables dancing wildly in the wind. He swerved sharply when _the damn crow_ landed so suddenly, so unexpectedly, so _purposely_ on his shoulder. Oh, how it laughed at him!

“What’s so funny?” He wanted to squeeze the life out of it, but fear stopped him. After all, it was Pryem who—

“Hindsight, little Pryem. Hindsight.”

“Rather talkative when we are nearly upon Haeblynn.” What did the bird know that the man did not?

“I wouldn’t say that,” it cawed merrily. What indeed. 

He shook his head, clearly not privy to the crow’s acumen. However, Pryem found it equally likely—if not moreso—that the crow simply sought only to fill his mind with senseless worry. It would neither be the first nor last. Instead his thoughts drifted away from the fell creature, toward the reason _why_ he was driving down a derelict road. A fire in Haeblynn little more than a fortnight ago claimed the lives of three innocent souls… and four not so inculpable. To make matters worse, the conflagration itself was highly suspect. So the First Charter sent him, as they were wont to do; as Pryem Corriven could not refuse.

He never had a choice.

When the engine stalled and subsequently died, he stared dumbfoundedly at the dial upon the smooth dashboard, mind not processing his dilemma quite yet. The wind howled, rattling the window’s glass. He was out of gas.

“Beyond the capital and her sister cities, where else might one purchase—”

The crow ceased its subtly scathing comments, silenced by Pryem’s fist slamming into the windshield. Blood steadily flowed from where he broke skin, and the glass was only smudged.

“Now, now, little Pryem. The car did not a thing wrong.” 

The man said nothing as he grabbed a leather duffel bag from the passenger seat, only tossing a few loose personal effects into the pockets. Hand hovering over the keys in the lifeless ignition, he removed them with finality. From the compact truck, he shouldered a similarly made rucksack. Only after double checking the weaponry on his person, did he walk down the road, not once sparing a glance at his expensive black car… for it was unlikely he would ever see the vehicle again.

“What a beautiful day to take a stroll, wouldn’t you say,” came the crow’s sickeningly jovial voice from overhead.

“Shut up.”

☨

His skin crawled. Something was more than just observing him—as countless creatures watched within the creeping fog—it was _following_ him. From the corner of his pale blue eyes, he spotted movement. Rather, he saw indistinct shapes of smaller animals fleeing, disturbing the foliage in the process. Even he could feel the murderous intent, so rife, so raw.

And it was getting ever so close.

The crow cackled and hummed a somber melody.

Pryem kept his pace even, controlled. He used his left hand to brush aside dark blond hair that escaped his disheveled ponytail, his left hand reaching for his sword in the same moment.

Ears trained to pinpoint the most minute, but telling, of sounds, he waited—waited for lumbering beast, as its strides spanned far, to get closer. Its footfalls lacked a heavy, _thudding_ impact. Thus, Pryem came to the the conclusion that it was light, likely willowy. The creature remained unawares of the hunter at the ready.

When he felt the warm, fetid breath against his neck and the air displaced by an imminent attack to his right, Pryem ducked under the monster’s reach. Reversing, he unsheathed Cinderbrand and sliced horizontally. When the gangly, gaunt humanoid took an extensive step, accentuated by unnaturally long legs, Pryem took three to close the distance. All the while, his silver blade worked furiously, ever keeping the leshe and its long reach at bay. 

Irritated with Pryem’s incessant barrage and the insignificant, but stinging, cuts of the sword, the leshe grabbed the sword with both hands and grinned maliciously, revealing jagged, brown teeth. For all the beast but had to rip the weapon from the smaller man’s grasp and tear the flesh from—

Its grotesque sallow face, splotched with either grime or old blood, turned into a visage wracked with pain, yowling overpowering the winds. Tongues of flame erupted from Cinderbrand, eating hungrily at the leshe’s hands, agonizingly slow, and began to burn its forearms black like smoldering coals.

Predictably, it released the burning weapon and took yet another unsteady step back, this time tumbling to the ground. The hunter wasted no time in exploiting its misstep, as he towered—for likely the first and last time the leshe could attest—over the prone monster, his sword raised, Pryem thrusted the blade down into its skull. Twisting with little resistance, he called to the old magic that lived within Cinderbrand once more.

Flames burned the rest of the corpse; a beacon in the gloam.

“Good work,” the crow chuckled, now perched on his shoulder, and continued, “but there are more.”

“There are always more.”

“Yes. Next time, take a horse, little Pryem.”


End file.
